The Dark End of the Street
by Roofran411
Summary: Harry, poor schmuck, seems to get dumped on by everyone, his girlfriend cheats on him, his girlfriend's sister hates him, his mate appears to take advantage. He does live at the dark end of the street.


From the Dark End of the Street

Sally Wainwright created Harry. He is, I suppose, an amalgam of a couple of Shakespeare's characters so he stands partly in the shadows supporting his mate.

I have just dragged him into the light.

Stephen Tompkinson played Harry in the Taming of the Shrew. In a long list of charming diffident men played by Stephen, Harry really must be one of the nicest, even if, like Petruchio and Kate, he does swear a lot.

Which is why I have given this an M rating.

Bright side of the Road by Van Morrison

This is a lovely jaunty song which I feel fits Harry and his story exactly.

Little darling come with me

Won't you help me share my load?

From the dark end of the street

To the bright side of the road.

Into this life we're born

Baby sometimes, sometimes we don't know why

And time simply goes by so fast

In the twinkling of an eye...

Let's enjoy it while we can

Won't you help me sing my song?

From the dark end of the street

To the bright side of the road.

We'll be lovers once again

On the bright side of the road

* * *

FROM THE DARK END OF THE STREET 

My name is Harry Kavanagh. I own a model and P.A. agency. I am 39; I am 187cms tall and weigh 82 kilos; that is 6ft 2 and 13 stones in old money. My hair and eyes are a nondescript mud colour. My face like the rest of me is very ordinary but, as I keep telling my clients; I have _personality_!

I was born and grew up in Charlbury, Oxfordshire.

I was educated at Meadowbank Comprehensive School, Charlbury, where I met my oldest and closest mate and continued my education, as he did, smoking, drinking, stoned and sleeping with as many girls as were willing, at the University of Warwick where we both achieved, through no fault of our own, a fairly decent degree.

I got myself a job with a P.R. firm until, when I was 26, I came into some money and decided to start my own agency.

He, my mate, buggered about for a bit. Not jobs you would expect a B.A (Hons) to have: stable lad, crewing on sailing holidays, ski instructor, till things got a bit tight and he got a job in the City and

we shared a flat for a while.

Disaster!

The City job, not the flat share, that is.

I suppose that was where my troubles started, the flat share that is, although it wouldn't be fair to blame him. Well not entirely, anyway.

I suppose it all began when _**he**_ heard about a party and decided _**we**_ should gatecrash it. I was dubious but as usual he managed to drag me along. I was sure we would be thrown out; as usual we weren't.

It's incredible!

Nobody throws _**him**_ out.

Well! They wouldn't, would they?

Oh! I haven't told you about him, have I?

My mate.

Petruchio Isambard Edward Crick, or Piers, as he prefers to be known and who can blame him with a mouthful of a name like that?

Age twenty six at that time, six feet tall, hefty, black curly hair, green eyes, startlingly good looking, even I, another bloke, can see he is.

Something else, he is a lord; a Peer of the Realm.

16th Earl of Charlbury... 17th Viscount Hazlington, as he was when I first met him, although it was something he didn't care to use.

Ancient titles don't go down well in comprehensive schools.

A loud, noisy, exhibitionist. Boisterous, funny, blazingly full of life. Charm by the bucket load when he chooses. Quick tempered, not afraid of a fight, in fact he would smack you one as soon as look but any ill feeling is soon forgotten; he's not one to bear a grudge. He's never quite grownup, larks about, and...Well... he has this tendency... now and then, he likes to wear a mini skirt _and_ high heeled boots _and_ beautifully applied makeup _and_ he paints his nails.

Don't think he's gay, he's not!

No way!

If anything it seems to make him more macho and it's never stopped him pulling birds, in fact he attracts them like a magnet... even in a mini.

I think he does it when he feels he can't cope. That's my theory.

Anyway, we went to this party and I met this girl!

22. Almost as tall as me, very slim but curvy enough, long dark hair, slanting brown eyes and a lovely long mouth. Beautiful, sexy Bianca, Bianca.

I had been in the business long enough to know she was magic.

"Have you ever thought of being a model?"

This was a line I'd used many times but this time I meant it.

If I could get her on my books, I would be made.

And I was falling in love.

I told her about my agency and I took her home to my bed that night and we shared each other's beds off and on for the next twelve years.

The next morning, she met my mate.

I wasn't worried about this, I could hold my own with him regarding girls. Maybe I don't have his looks but as I have said, I have personality. And we didn't pinch each other's birds.

Any way she wasn't his type.

He liked Page 3 Glamour Model type blondes_, All Woma_n (I quote him), tall, big tits, big bum and a bit thick. He wasn't keen on clever women.

What I was not prepared for, was the instant loathing they had for each other.

Piers got out almost straight away; within weeks he had found another flat and that how it was for the next nine years, them carefully avoiding each other. I think in those nine years they only met another 3 or 4 times and briefly at that.

It says a lot for both of them that it didn't destroy either relationship.

Piers and I still saw each other, still boozed together and still listened to each other's problems, still told each other when we were being bloody idiots .

And Bianca and I went to the top.

She as 'the most beautiful woman in the world', and me, trailing behind as her agent and P.A. ...dogsbody, I suppose, is a better word.

We worked around the major cities of the world together; me, adoring, frequently asking her to marry me and she, gently, affectionately tolerant, refusing.

And during this time I got to know her family.

Her young widowed mother, Lesley, a tall, fragile, blue-eyed blonde, sweet and charming to everyone. Older, _and younger_, men would drift in her direction and I could see why! I fancied her a bit myself! One lovely sexy lady.

And Bianca's sister... Katherine.

A black haired, dark eyed midget, a troglodyte, a termagant, a monster, a gorgon, with a mind like a razor and a tongue equally sharp. Foulest temper and an equally foul mouth. I'm not narrow minded but she ... Jeez ...a fishwife's got nothing on her. A shrew and I don't mean the little furry animal although she was tiny. She was a spitting clawing wild cat. A Cambridge double first, brilliant in her field, politics. She was then a newly elected M.P., on her way up the political ladder, and still a virgin.

Not that I...no...noo... I wasn't interested in finding that out...Bianca told me. Bianca, who had lost her virginity as soon as she was legal, was worried about her sister!

Christ! I mean, who would want to? Who could? She could shrivel the balls off any man foolish enough even to think about it.

No! She didn't like me; I didn't like her! In fact she terrified me.

So I steered clear of her except when Bianca insisted, which was more often than I liked.

Surprising as it may seem, although they fought like cat and dog, they loved each other; in their own way.

Then calamities started to overtake Piers.

His granny had left him some money in trust till he was thirty. He hated the Stock Exchange. Why he had thought he would be any good, God only knows, he's useless with money. I thought of asking him to join me in my agency. His money would have been safe but you have to be a bit diplomatic in this business and he says what he thinks!

So it was easy for some people he knew to persuade him to put his money into a couple of businesses which failed leaving him up to his eyes in debt and the Inland Revenue hounding him.

"I'm buggering off to Australia." he said, about three years ago, "Get some money together and maybe get the Revenue off my back."

To get back to where we were, a while back, Bianca and I were flying home from a shoot in Milan, and somehow, there was some confusion about the plane seats and I was shunted back into economy and some child was given my seat in Business next to Bianca.

In London, I sorted out Bianca and her luggage at her flat and departed to sort out mine at my flat. She was meeting her mother and sister for lunch.

Later, I was just about to go around to her place when I had a call from some journalist. Would I like to comment on the fracas at Claridge's involving her sister. Apparently her sister had thrown over a table!

Oh God!

I arrived back at her place and that was where everything started to go really wrong. She didn't want to discuss her sister. No! She didn't want to marry me.

And get this!

She would get married when Katherine did.

Her sister's political party wanted her to get married so as to make her more acceptable to its members.

Christ! Who would marry her?

What lunatic would think about it?

What poor sod could be persuaded to?

She, Bianca, didn't want to marry me, in fact she didn't want to see me again.

Would I go now please.

It was then that the doorbell rang.

It was the child from the flight: and would I go!

That child? ... that boy and Bianca?

She was not getting rid of me that easily but I went home and got slowly drunk, sodden drunk.

I woke up in the middle of a war zone. Some terrorist was breaking my door down and practicing his torture techniques on my head and eyes. He then started to beat me up, punching me in the ribs and on my back. Why didn't this sadist leave me alone, I was nearly dying anyway.

Out of the booming I began to make out words. Ree, arrrrry Harry, HARRY

I forced my eyes to open a slit.

Jesus God! The pain.

It was Piers. No, he was in Australia.

It _was_ Piers.

Why didn't he stand still?

Eventually it got through to me that he _was_ home!

Deported! No work permit he said.

Getting married...

Wait a minute, I missed something somewhere.

Why?

His old man had died, he said.

I was sorry about that. I had liked his old man.

Still didn't see the connection.

The tax people were still after him plus more death duties and they were threatening to possess the house.

Another minute. He didn't give a shit about the house or the title.

"Well I do." he said illogically. "So, ' I 'm come to wive it wealthily in Padua.' "

Christ! He was on one of his Shakespeare trips. That was another of his weird kicks ... Well, his degree _was_ in Eng, Lit. I suppose.

Did I know anybody? Of course, I bloody didn't; then a thought struck me.

The Gorgon.

I started to smirk but it hurt too much.

Who? Who? He kept on. I had to lie down.

Could he stay for a bit?

He could do what he sodding well liked if he shut up and left me alone.

Did I have any food, he was starving, hadn't had anything except whisky for 36 hours. No money!

"If you let me lie down for a bit, I'll buy you breakfast."

"You mean tea, don't you? It's 4.30."

Christ!

So as we walked to the greasy spoon caff around the corner, I told him about Bianca and the Italian kid and her sister. And he listened as he ate his Full English and then mine. He hadn't heard of the Gorgon, so he said. I found that difficult to believe.

I mean, everyone has heard of her. Crucifying the Prime Minister! Chewing up other politicians and people like Paxman for breakfast and spitting them out afterwards.

"She wants to get married? She got money?"

I was joking, I tried to explain, no-one would marry _her_.

I wanted to talk about Bianca.

I loved her.

I had loved her for 12 years, _for 12 years_.

He raised his eyebrow, sardonically.

What? What?

"Oh come on Harry. This is me."

What?

"What about all the wet summers?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... What about all the women in between?"

I always loved her and she me...

"Yeah, yeah ... And all the times you told me about? You know, when you had... there were fair few... and when she ... she didn't do too badly either."

"Yeah, yeah... Well, we loved each other."

Anyway where could he meet the Harpy?

No, no way.

I told him Bianca was having a party the next night, I was going...

He would come, I could introduce him.

No.

And so we amicably argued in this manner over the next 24 hours till as I half expected, we arrived at Bianca's front door.

"50 quid says you won't do it ...50 quid says you won't want to when you see her. The bitch from the Black lagoon..."

As he hammered on the door it was flung upon. As I have said we are both big blokes but this mini tornado brushed past us as if we were cardboard, followed equally violently by Bianca, followed by her mother who paused and explained to us that there had been an altercation between Katherine and some rock star.

Jesus! Another Altercation!

Bianca was screaming at Katherine who nothing lothe, was screaming back. Mrs Minola was wringing her hands.

"Oh Harry!" She said.

Bianca brushed past us again to her party and Katherine was retreating to the lift. My mate asked that her?

Resignedly I nodded and he took off and somehow forced the lift doors.

I followed Mrs Minola into the flat and got myself a drink. The boychild was there and looked as he already knew his way around.

There was a call from the concierge.

The lift was jammed.

Did we know who was in it?

Inevitably I knew it was Piers...and Katherine.

Oh God! Why can't life be easier?

Resignedly I went with the concierge. When the doors eventually opened, they were standing eyeball to eyeball, well not literally, because he's a foot taller than her but you know what I mean. Without looking at us, he said," This is Kate. We are going to be married."

"In your dreams, Buster" she said and stalked off.

"I'll book the register office or church or whatever."

She turned and smiled.

My blood curdled. God protect me from a smile like that.

"You do that," she said.

"Kiss me Kate," he called after her.

I watched him watching her. He is quite mad. I felt sick with apprehension or was it last night's booze?

"Er... You coming back up?" I said.

"No... No. No point now, not necessary. I 'm off back to your place."

I went back to the party. I was not going to let Bianca out my sight with that kid.

I spent the rest of the night watching her draping herself over LU...CENT...IO, sitting with her mother both of us sick with ... Whatever.

For different reasons.

For a second morning I woke with a thick head but I had to work through this one. Piers was still asleep when I left and gone when I came home.

I spent the weekend dumping myself in Bianca's flat on various pretexts; they mostly ignored me.

I didn't see Piers again till Monday night.

He was waiting for me when I got in.

He was holding a glass of whiskey. As high as a bloody kite and yet he didn't appear to be drunk; just...elated.

"Where did you get to over the weekend?"

He didn't answer for a moment, just a ghost of a smile.

"Harry, what are you doing on the 29th?"

"29th of what? This month? That's 3 weeks? I don't know. Nothing that I can think of."

"You got a morning suit?"

Dread seized me; I had a pain in my chest, and my stomach, my head. He couldn't be suggesting...then...

"Will you be my best man?"

I think I stopped breathing, you get brain damage from that; he was the one with brain damage.

I tipped my head slowly at him.

"You mean ... Katherine ...

"Kate"

"She doesn't like being called Kate." I said, cold fingers of fear crawling inside me.

_"I_ know,_ I_ like it," he said nonchalantly. "Will you? Be my best man?"

"I can't, I can't let you do this. Nothing's worth this. Forget the money. Things will sort themselves out. There's no need."

"Harry ... Harry, you don't understand. It's not the money, well it is. It was in the beginning, it was a bit of fun but it's not now. You didn't tell me ... You didn't tell she was so beautiful... "

I stared at him. Was he talking about Godzilla? He _was_ mad.

"You're not serious, you can't be!"

"Yes I am, I am. She's everything I want. She's beautiful and clever, and funny and witty, her eyes, her skin, her hair. Her mouth, God Harry, her mouth. She is so exciting, arousing. I've spent barely 3 days with her and I can hardly keep my hands off her, all I want to do is shag her."

"She's a bloody lesbian, everybody thinks so."

"She's not! No, she's not." He smiled to himself.

"Have you sha..."

"No ...no."

"Well, fucking shag her. Go ahead and shag her but don't marry her"

"I don't want to shag her ... Well I do, but I want to marry her; I want to be married to her, Harry! She's everything I ever wanted, only I didn't know, until...CLANG. You will, Harry, won't you. You'll be my best man?"

Against my better judgement, against my reason I agreed.

I did have ulterior motives.

If he married Katherine, then it would mean that Bianca would have to keep her word ...to me...

Bianca flew off to New York the next day so I didn't know her reaction to this.

In the next 3 weeks they got their wedding together and Mrs Minola and I sat silently by and looked at each other and watched while this disaster raced nearer at the speed of light.

Now and then, I tried to talk to him. I asked "Have you told her about...You know?"

"What ..?"

"You know ..."

"No, what? What? Oh that, no, no. It doesn't matter..."

It doesn't matter! Christ!

I have always thought he was a penny short of a pound but ...words fail me.

She was throwing a fair bit of money around for this wedding. Nothing was spared.

He chose and organised the honeymoon in Italy so I was a bit taken aback when he told me the evening before that there was a mix up about the flights and that they would not be flying out on Sunday but just after the ceremony itself.

I have known him a long time.

I looked at him.

"What about the luggage?"

"Well, when the car drops us off at the church, he can go round to the hotel and pick it up before he takes us to Heathrow."

Nasty little digs of suspicion stuck themselves in me. As I said, I have known him a long time.

And he can be a devious sod.

"Katherine know about this?"

"Not yet."

The morning of the wedding started badly. He threw up. He didn't have a hangover; we hadn't been out the night before. He didn't want a stag do.

He threw up and then had a whiskey. On an empty stomach!

He was quiet, didn't open his mouth. He had another whiskey as he dressed. And another, as he stood in the bedroom looking in the mirror.

"I can't do it." he said.

I couldn't believe it; then pulled myself together.

Don't worry, I'll sort it, best now...

And slowly he said "I don't mean that. I mean this." gesturing at his morning suit.

It took a minute to dawn on me.

"No! No, you can't, you can't do that, not to her! Especially not to her ..."But he was beginning to undress and I knew what it meant.

A full length velvet coat, high heeled boots, fishnet net stockings, a see through blouse and a mini skirt. On top of which, immaculately applied makeup and painted nails.

We were late, and then we hit a traffic jam at the Elephant and Castle and some bloke lent us his scooter.

And we arrived 50 minutes late, at the same time as Katherine. She stood mouth open as unabashed he grabbed her hand and dragged her into the church and down the aisle.

She found her tongue half way down, he drunkenly tried to placate her and so that was how they went on through the service. I thought at one point she was going to call it off but he said something to her and so the ceremony continued till he told her about the flight.

I thought "God Almighty! she is going to kill him."

I caught Mrs Minola's eye across the aisle. She looked as desperate as I felt.

So they were married.

"Is your friend totally deranged?" Bianca asked me.

I reminded her about her promise and she told me she was engaged to LU...CEN...TIO.

Aren't there laws about this... marrying children...?

And Piers dragged his outraged bride off to Heathrow, Bianca snogged her toyboy, and I despondently stood next to a distraught Mrs Minola.

There were some who went on to the reception and had a good time.

But not me.

I went home and started to get drunk, the phone rang. A very drunk Piers demanding that I fly out to Italy.

I didn't have anything better to do so I went; besides I was afraid they might kill each other, though what I could do to prevent them, I really didn't know.

The first flight I could get to Pisa was Sunday night so by time I got through Customs and got myself a car it was Monday morning. I rang the number Piers had given me and he gave me directions and said "Oh and bring some food and stuff with you, will you? There's nothing here."

When I eventually got there, he had laid the table outside by the pool.

"Where's Katherine?" I asked but he just waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the house.

We ate, opened a bottle but he drank very little while I ...well I drank and smoked while he sparingly told me what was going on.

"I've got to win this." he said and stared down into his glass.

I topped up my glass and then began to pour out my sorrows.

I suppose I did go on a bit but when at last I finished, I said "Am I deluding myself?"

He said, "You know you are. You're not in love with her; you're in love with the image. You always have been."

We sat in silence, brooding on our problems.

I cracked the old joke we used to make in Uni. "Well, I'll have to marry a rich widow."

"Do you know any?" he said.

"I'm making a list" I said," That or sell my body. "

He jumped up suddenly, "Kate, Kate, Harry's here. Come and have something to eat. "He looked down at the table at the empty plates...

"Oh well you wouldn't have liked it anyway. Harry's brought your case".

I had no idea what he was talking about.

"I'll go and get it." She stood there tiny, fragile, still wearing her wedding dress.

"Can I have one of your cigarettes?" she said. I didn't know she smoked.

I tried to explain about being late for the wedding but she rightly asked why he was does anyone get drunk on their wedding day? And his clothes? That's how he is sometimes. Why didn't he tell her?

"My career's completely ruined."

I asked her why she married him, was it because she loved him? Her eyes filled with tears and she nodded.

"He loves you. Isn't that more important than your career?" The tears brimmed over and fell.

We heard his footsteps on the gravel and he walked past us with her case to the poolside.

"He's going to throw it in, isn't he?"

"Looks like it."

We sat and listened to him count down and then throw it in the pool. She looked at the cigarette she was still holding and gave it to me, got up and went to her husband.

I had thought she was going to slap him or at least push him in but she didn't. She put up her hand, pulled his head down and kissed him, long and hard.

Then she turned and went back towards the house, after a minute or two, he went after her.

And I was left with the bottle and my fags and my thoughts.

I didn't sleep much so I was first up. The signora lady who looked after the place had arrived.

Her English was limited, though it was better than my Italian. Still, l was staggered and cynically amused to find out she thought Piers might have murdered Kate. I mean to say, she is terrifyingly infuriating. But _Murder_! Now that is going too far; even for Piers.

She had brought some fresh bread and she made me some coffee and I sat there with yet another fag.

I heard a door bang upstairs and footsteps on the stairs. He was whistling so things must be OK with them.

He was all smiles as he got their breakfast, which strengthened my decision.

"I think I'll go home today"

"Oh! Oh! Why?"

"Well everything's fine with you two now, and I don't see any point in hanging around here, just because of Bianca. I've got to get on with my life and my business. I've neglected my other clients too much while I trailed around after Bianca. "

"Don't think you have to." he said but I did. After all, I wouldn't want _him_ on _my_ honeymoon.

He took their breakfast upstairs and I went outside to retrieve Katherine's suitcase from the pool. The signora helped me, tsk-tsking all the while, but she did take Katherine's things and rinsed out those she could salvage.

They said they would drive me back to Pisa, Katherine booking a hotel room for them in perfect fluent Italian.

"You speak Italian?"

"Of course." and seeing my surprise, "Minola ...Italian!"

"And Bianca too?" I said slowly.

"Of course." And I saw their faces as it dawned on them that it hadn't occurred to me, and from there, to them remembering Bianca smilingly saying "He is going to teach me Italian."

Lying to me.

Well. That was that!

Over!

I could say it.

It still hurt but it helped to know I could say it.

Funny! It didn't hurt for as long as I thought, and I got on with my life.

Then one evening, about six weeks after all this, I was leaving my office in Soho, and not looking where I was going, I bumped into someone.

"Harry!" It was Mrs Minola. "How nice."

We stood chatting in the street for quite a while, so I said "Would you like a drink? Come on, it's better than standing out here."

We went into a bar and I looked at her. She really was a beautiful woman and a lovely person with it.

"A white wine." she said and smiled at me and my spirits lifted.

"No," I said. "Let's have champagne."

And we did.

Then we had dinner.

"Harry, do you know Bianca's getting married?"

And do you know, I really didn't care?

And we talked and laughed through the evening.

When I was putting her into a cab later, I said "Would you like to do this again sometime?"

"Yes, yes please ...soon."

She smiled at me and Piers' famous "clang" happened to me.

I leaned in through the cab window.

"You know" I said slowly. "I've always fancied you."

A little smile appeared, with dimples...Katherine's dimples?

"You know, I've always fancied you, too."

And that is how I became my best mate's father.

And grandfather to his children ...without being a dad.

And loved it.

As my darling Lesley says,"You know, Harry, the best part about being a grandparent is you can always give them back when you have had enough."

0 0 0 0 0 0

.

.


End file.
